Another Day In Hell
by Emm
Summary: Just when Brock needs his friends most, it seems they've all turned their backs on him... *chapter 4 added*
1. Hell hath no fury...

Another Day In Hell  
  
  
  
Authors Note: Finally got down to writing something! Yeah, college does that to ya. I have, like, 10 different story ideas buzzing around my head, and no time to get them down on paper. And I've been doing the second part of my humor fic as well, but it just sounds sooooo crappy! Even to my own ears. I have no idea where I'm going with this because I am literally making it up as I go along. So even I don't know what's going to happen. Which is why I would reeeeally appreciate it if you could review and give me some ideas. I may add shipping... of some kind... in later chapters. Maybe.  
  
  
  
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^  
  
He was roasting alive.  
  
The sweat that trickled down his forehead plastered his damp hair to his skin. It slickened his burning forehead and just added to his already intense misery.  
  
And as he slowly woke, squinting painfully up through sweat soaked lashes, he also realised he was barely able to breathe.  
  
His lungs burned, and each laboured breath he took just caused fresh pain in his raw and aching throat.  
  
It was Hell.  
  
It was pure torture.  
  
It was....  
  
"The flu" the stern faced nurse informed him coldly, her face a mask of indifference. She roughly pulled out the thermometer from under his tongue and held it to the light, reading it with not so much as a flicker of concern crossing her face. Calling out the reading to a young male nurse across the room, who frantically scribbled in a large black book, she looked down at her feverish patient, regarding him expressionlessly for a moment or two. She retrieved a small pocket light from her pocket and flashed it quickly in both of his eyes, which he tried in vain to keep open behind their leaden eyelids.  
  
"Well," she snapped, walking briskly to the foot of her patients bed. "I suppose you'll have to stay here for a few days, won't you?"   
  
She scowled at his prone form, as if it was a great bother to her, which he had caused deliberately just be malicious.   
  
"Two days and no more" she instructed her assistant, the glower still present on her face. "He should be back to sufficient health well before then. If I find him still taking up space in this infirmary by Friday morning...."  
  
She trailed off, letting her poor assistant guess the implications of her words. The young nurse visibly swallowed down his response, choosing instead to nod nervously and scurry from the room, casting one sympathetic glance in the direction of the patient. The kind of look which said, "Rather you than me, buddy"   
  
The heavily set nurse twisted her mouth into an irritated frown as she regarded the clipboard hanging at the end of his bed. "You have two days, Slate. Then you'll report back to me after evening meal for your medication." She tutted again, realising that he probably couldn't even hear her in his dazed, drugged-up state. Brock forced his head to lift in a vague nod of acknowledgement, his eyes still painfully clamped shut.   
  
'Yeah, like you care anyway, you miserable old bitch' he thought drowsily to himself, supressing the urge to say it out loud. But though the satisfaction of saying such a thing would keep him happy for a while, the consequences would last far longer. The nurse rolled her eyes and, to Brock's satisfaction, finally stalked out of the room. She hated it when these prisoners got ill. They made such a mess in her nice clean infirmary.  
  
Hearing her heavy footsteps gradually get further and further away, he sighed a little to himself and wiped the sweat off his brow. It wasn't very often that he got to see such luxury, and to him, this place was like a palace. Sure, the bedsheets were still rough and course, and a dirty grey in colour, but there were a darn improvement on the jail regulation rags that passed for sheets on his own bed, back in his cell. Feeling the bile suddenly rising in his throat again, he quickly flipped onto his stomach and started to hack and splutter over the side, the disgusting taste of phlegm and antibiotics in his mouth. A few moments of this followed, until he finally rolled back on to his back, exhausted and gasping for breath. He slowly reached out his shaking hand to get the pitcher of water beside the bed, intent on getting the acrid aftertaste out of his mouth. Gulping down the precious water, he couldn't help but wonder if it could get any worse.   
  
Brock had found Hell, right here on Earth. And it's name was Pewter City General Prison.   
  
  
^^^^^^  
  
"Slate!!!!"  
  
Brock cringed as he heard the prison warden screech his name, his voice bouncing through the bare cells. His inmate, a heavily tattooed guy by the name of Jared who was in for armed robbery, had the decency to give him a vague look of sympathy, before turning his back on him. Brock frowned and turned to look upwards. He was lying on the top bunk in his cell, his hands behind his head and staring blankly at the ceiling. He was glad to have gotten over the 'flu as soon as he did. Things were bad enough without becoming a total invalid at the same time. He sniffed absent-mindedly. Well, maybe not totally over it. But near enough. Bloody hell, he'd been cooped up in that damned infirmary with that pyschotic she-devil that was the head nurse for over 48 hours. There was only so long that you could stare at a ceiling contemplating what shade of grey it was.   
  
His eyes flickered to the cell door as a burly warden marched up the corridor and stopped there, his fat face almost purple and his mouth set into a tight line. He rammed said cell door impatiently with his fist.   
  
"Did you hear me, boy?" he growled, his eyes narrowing. Brock didn't answer, instead choosing to sit up and swing his legs over the side of the bunk. The guard, apparently getting even more infuriated by his silence, had a vein starting to pop out his neck.  
  
"Slate! Answer me when I talk to you!"  
  
"What do you want?" Brock scowled, judging it wiser to talk than to suffer the guards short temper.  
  
The guard grunted incomprehensively, detatching a large bunch of keys and a pair of handcuffs from his belt loop.   
  
"You've got a visitor"  
  
  
^^^^^^  
  
  
Misty drew little circles with her fingers on the bench in front of her, nervously biting her lower lip. She quickly glanced in the direction of the window, where the 18 year old form of Ash Ketchum waved timidly back at her, giving her a not entirely self assured thumbs up. Misty quickly lowered her eyes, then raised them to gaze steadily at the door opposite her, behind the thick pane of bullet-proof glass in front of her. As she waited for them to bring him, her thoughts drifted off.  
  
She was brought suddenly back to earth as the far door opened, and a dishevelled looking young man stepped through, flanked by an armed guard on each side. Misty took in her friends appearence, shock registering on her face. His hair was messy and unkept, and his jaw was unshaved. Dark circles were noticable underneath his red rimmed eyes, and he wore the regulation dark blue scrubs, which hung a little looser than usual on his frame. Obviously he wasn't adjusting too well to prison life.  
  
As he noticed the empty booth, his face lit up in recognition at who was sitting on the other side. He sat down in the chair, his guards retreating to stand a few meters away, their eyes still watching him warily. Brock took the phone off of it's cradle, and put it to his ear, a move which Misty copied.  
  
"Misty..."  
  
"Brock. It's been a while"  
  
"Too long"  
  
Misty paused, tilting her head to the side. She managed a small smile.  
  
"How are you?"  
  
"Just peachy. What do you think?" he grunted sarcastically.  
  
"Brock, there's no need to be like that. I just wanted to know whether you're holding up ok in here..." Misty sighed.  
  
"Yeah. I... I know. I'm sorry" he said quietly.  
  
"S'okay. Forget about it. So.... are you ok?" she repeated.  
  
"Yes. No. It's just so hard. I don't belong in here. I... I want to be back out there"  
  
"I know you do. We all miss you. I worry about you a lot"  
  
"You don't need to. I can take care of myself"  
  
"I know that. But look at you. You're a mess"  
  
Brock chuckled dryly at that comment. "Thank you"  
  
"No, really" Misty said seriously. "You look terrible. Are they treating you right in here?"  
  
"As good as someone like me deserves, I suppose" he mumbled, shaking his head regrettably. Misty remained silent, at a loss of what to say.  
  
Brock leaned forward, pressing his palm against the glass. "I'm not meant to be here, Misty. Make them understand. Please"  
  
Misty opened her mouth to reply, then closed it again. "I tried" she whispered eventually, rubbing her head tenderly. She had a killer headache on its way.  
  
"Try again" Brock pleaded, tilting his head to the side. "It's killing me in here. I don't belong here. I never did anything! You know that..."  
  
He paused as he watched Misty bite her lip again, looking everywhere except his eyes. She scratched her head nervously, refusing to make eye contact with him.  
  
"Don't you?" he added quietly, raising his eyebrow. Misty took a deep breath and gave him an innocent look, pretending she didn't know what he meant.  
  
"Don't I what?"  
  
"Believe me" he replied, suspiciously. When Misty failed to reply, staring silently at the floor instead, he widened his eyes, his mouth dropping open. "You mean you.... you actually.... you don't believe me???"  
  
"Brock, I didn't come here today to make small talk" Misty stammered, not taking her eyes from the floor. "I... I just came to tell you that I've got a lot going on at the moment with my work at the gym. I... I'm going to be very busy and I just don't think I'll be able to visit you that often anymore"  
  
"Bullshit!!!" Brock exploded, leaping to his feet and knocking back his chair. "You're just saying that 'cause... because you don't believe me anymore! You think I did it, didn't you? Damn you, Misty, does being friends mean *nothing* to you anymore?!"  
  
Misty dropped the phone and scrambled backwards out of her seat. She watched on in horror as the two guards lurched for him, trying to stop him pounding the glass with his fists. Her face was a mask of shock as she watched them wrestle him to the ground following his rather uncharacteristic outburst. Brock let out a howl of pain as his arm got twisted behind his back, paralysing his ability to struggle from their grasps. He knew that it was futile, he could never get away. But he didn't understand why she had changed her mind so suddenly. First Ash's visits had decreased so much that he didn't even see him any more - now Misty was turning her back on him. He didn't understand. He had to try to make *her* understand.  
  
"Misty!!! Listen to me!" he cried as he was dragged out of the room. "Please, believe me! You've got to believe me! I didn't do it! Please--"  
  
His voice was silenced as the heavy metal door slammed shut behind them, leaving the room in a heavy silence. All the people, prisoners, visitors and guards alike, all stared at Misty like she'd just grown a third head. Misty glared back at them, roughly wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.  
  
"WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU STARING AT?!?!"  
  
A murmer went up through the room as people deliberately turned their heads away, returning to their conversations. Misty stormed through the door, slamming it behind her and not bothering to wait for her companion. Ash quickly ran to catch up with her.  
  
"Misty--"  
  
"Just get in the car, Ash" she snapped, her voice shaking. "And DON'T talk to me!"  
  
Ash obediantly shut his mouth.  
  
  
^^^^^^  
  
  
To be continued. 


	2. ... Like a woman scorned

  
  
  
  


Authors Note: She returns! And brings forth new chapters! Here's the second part of 'Another Day in Hell', and it consists of a whole lot of flashbacks. Soooo, this tells a little more of how poor ol' Brock got into this sticky situation. So it'll satisfy all those curious little minds out there. It is also trés depressing, and a great deal longer than the first. 

  
  


Someone in one of the reviews asked if this was a sequel to another fic, and the answer is... no. Not as such. I know this does resemble another fic of mine - where Brock gets dragged off to jail - but I wrote this story as a different time, a different situation. I suppose you *could* see this as a sequel, but it's not intended to be. So there ya go!

  
  
  
  


........................

  
  
  
  


The journey home was silent. 

  
  


Ash stared vacantly out of the window, his eyes flickering from left to right as he watched the countryside speed by. Nothing but grass, trees, fields... and sometimes the occasional cow. Exactly the same as the journey there. 

  
  


Beside him, Misty gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white from the pressure she was forcing on them. She didn't seem to notice how fast she was going, or if she was, she didn't care. Ash debated whether or not to tell her to slow down. He decided against it, knowing he would die anyway if he dared to talk to her while she was in this state. He might as well be killed in a car crash than at Misty's hands.

  
  


He silently stole a glance towards the drivers seat. Misty was staring ahead, her eyes never leaving the road. But unlike Ash's vacant and empty stare, Misty's was intense and angry, like she was trying to make the spot she was staring at to spontaneously combust. Her eyes were narrowed, and her eyebrows drew together in a frown. Her expression had not changed since they left the car park, and he could be sure her mood hadn't either. After eight years of knowing her, Ash knew to keep his mouth shut when she was in this kind of mood. Eight long.... long years.

  
  


Awkward at the heavy silence enveloping the car, he casually turned his head to look at the place they had been not ten minutes ago. The prison loomed over the trees surrounding it, blighting the otherwise picturesque countryside around it. He shuddered when he looked at it. He would hate to be the one in there. If... if only Brock hadn't--

  
  


His thoughts were suddenly interrupted as Misty took a sharp right turn, making his face slam into the window.

  
  


"Ouch! Misty, what the hell are you doing?" he whined, rubbing his sore cheek. Misty glared at him in return, taking her eyes away from the road.

  
  


"What are talking about, 'where am I going'?"

  
  


Ash spun around to look through the back window, watching as the distant Mount Moon got fainter and fainter as it disappeared into the distance. "What I mean," Ash frowned, "is why are you going this way? Cerulean City is back that way."

  
  


Misty gave him a look that made him feel about as big as an insect. "Do you *live* in Cerulean City, Ash?"

  
  


"No." Ash blinked.

  
  


"Well then. Why are you complaining?"

  
  


"I... I just thought--"

  
  


"Well DON'T!" Misty growled, returning her eyes to the road. Ash stared at her angrily for a few moments, his mouth opening and closing while he thought of a reply.

  
  


"Will... will you stop being so damn... damn... selfish?"

  
  


He was suddenly thrown forward as Misty slammed her foot onto the brakes, the car immediately screeching to a halt. Ash coughed and spluttered as his own seatbelt tried to strangle him, and spent the next few moments awkwardly trying to free himself. After he finally untangled himself, he turned back to Misty, only to find her glaring at him furiously.

  
  


"WHAT?!"

  
  


"You... you heard what I said" Ash replied firmly, knowing that he was well overstepping the line here. "I-I mean it, Misty. I've had just about enough!"

  
  


Misty stared at him as though she had just been slapped. He could almost see the cogs turning in her head as she tried to think up a biting remark. After a few seconds of making weird unearthly noises and trying to vaporised him with her eyes, she finally managed to make a croaky guttural "What the... HELL... are you saying?!"

  
  


"You should get a reality check, Misty! You're acting like this whole thing only affects you! Have you ever stopped to consider that maybe there are *other* people who are going through this?! Well? And have you even considered what Brock is going through in there?" 

  
  


"Shut up, Ash." Misty warned.

  
  


"No, I'm not going to shut up, Misty, not this time!" Ash yelled, his voice getting louder and louder. "I've shut up long enough! He's the one who has to spend the rest of his life behind bars! He's the one who'll never get to go outside, be able to do something as simple as go to the shops to buy a carton of milk. He'll never be able to train or battle his Pokemon again, you know that don't you? Even if we appealed, and his sentence got cut down, do you think he'll ever be able to lead a normal life again? Do you think he'll ever be able to be a gym leader again? Or a breeder? 

  
  


No, Misty, he won't! His gym license will be ripped up, and so will his trainers license. He'll *never* be able to get a job, because everywhere he goes, people will know who he is, and they'll hate him for it. People will throw bricks through his windows, they'll yell and spit at him in the streets. Besides, do you know how old he'll be if we got him out, even following an appeal? God, he'd be old enough to be a grandfather! What kind of a life is that? Everyday, he'll have to stare out of that barred window, knowing that he can never get out. Knowing that the nearest he'll ever get to freedom is a jog around the prison yard. Wondering why he's in there, when he knows he didn't do it! And now, he's suddenly been turned down by his friends, the people he trusted most. Even though they both know he never did it, that Brock would never hurt anyone. Have you even *thought* about that? Have you even--"

  
  


"SHUT UP!!!" Misty screamed, slamming her fist onto the steering wheel. Ash immediately stopped shouting, shocked at how all his bottled up feelings, which he had kept to himself for the past month, had suddenly just flooded out. He tried to get back his breath, trying to hide the tears that he felt welling up.

  
  


"Don't you DARE tell me that I don't care! That I don't think of what he's going through! Because you're wrong!" she yelled, squeezing her eyes shut to stop herself crying. "It's all I think about it. I stay awake for hours at night, knowing that I can't get sleep because it's all I see when I close my eyes. When I battle trainers, or go to the bank, or take a walk... all I can think about is that he'll never be able to do it anymore! I have to turn around all my pictures of him because I can't bear to look at them anymore. Do you know how hard it was to tell him I'm not going to visit him anymore? His face was so trusting, it almost killed me. But I just couldn't face him again..."

  
  


"Misty..." Ash started, reaching out to touch her shoulder. Misty flinched away.

  
  


"Just get out, Ash." she said quietly, refusing to look at him.

  
  


"Misty, please..." Ash pleaded.

  
  


"I said, GET OUT!!!" Misty screamed, finally opening her eyes to look at him. Ash sighed inwardly, knowing he had finally stepped over the line. He slowly opened the car door, took one last look at her, then got out and slammed the car door behind him. No sooner had the door shut, the car did a U-turn and sped off in the direction of Mount Moon and Cerulean City, sending up clouds of dust after it. Ash watched the car disappear into the distance, just as the first drops of rain started to splatter on his nose. Shaking his head, he turned around and started to walk the long journey back to Pallet Town.

  
  
  
  


........................

  
  
  
  


Misty slammed her front door behind her, feeling little comfort from being back in the security of her own home. Drawing the chain across the bolt, she rested her head against the door, shutting her eyes. She was absolutely fuming at Ash, she could barely think at all, her mind too clouded with her own anger. What right did *he* have to tell her - Misty K. Williams, Cerulean City Gym Leader - that she didn't care. How could he have ever thought she was so heartless? But despite the anger she felt towards him, he had told her a lot of truths that she just didn't want to face.

  
  


Reluctantly, she pulled herself away from the door and into her living room. It was littered with empty pizza boxes, cartons that once were filled with takeaways, glasses, beer cans and half drunk or empty bottles. The whole situation had hit both Misty and Ash badly, but it had affected Misty a lot more than she liked to let on. Picking up a bottle of half-downed vodka beside the couch, she viewed the room again. It was a simple place, as Misty lived by herself. Her sisters had moved out when Misty had taken over the gym, and that's the way she liked it. The walls were covered with framed photo's, of herself, her sisters and their husbands, her long-dead parents, her new nieces and nephews. Every so often there was one of Ash, by himself or with her. But at least six of the photographs were turned around to face the wall.

  
  


Sighing, Misty grabbed the nearest one, a small one resting on top of the TV. Turning it around, she held it in her hand and stared at it. It was of herself, Ash and Brock, sometime during their times in Johto. 

  
  


'Happier times' Misty thought to herself, before mentally kicking herself for being so over-sentimental. Sitting on the couch with the photo, she took a large mouthful from the bottle, letting her thoughts drift back to the day it all began.

  
  
  
  


........................

  
  
  
  


~~one year previously~~

  
  
  
  


"I'm afraid I disagree with you there, Ash. It was definitely Richie." Brock grinned, peeking over the top of the menu.

  
  


"Nuh-uh." Ash frowned, vigorously shaking his head. "It was Todd for sure."

  
  


"Both of you are wrong." Misty butted in, taking her fifth handful of complementary peanuts from the basket in front of them. "I happen to have a great memory for faces. And I'm telling you, it was Gary."

  
  


"Great memory? You? Please, you have trouble remembering what day it is." Brock commented dryly. Misty flashed the one fingered salute at him before turning back to Ash. "Anyway, who cares who it is that still owes you money. How much was it again?"

  
  


"Three hundred." Ash replied glumly, fiddling with a sachet of ketchup in front of him.

  
  


"Woah..." Brock whistled, his eyebrows almost disappearing into his hair. "You shouldn't let him get away with that, you know."

  
  


"I don't intend to."

  
  


"How could you lend someone that amount of money and not remember who you lent it to?" Misty asked, smirking.

  
  


Ash flinched as the sachet of ketchup burst open and splattered his trousers with its contents. "I was kind of drunk at the time."

  
  


"Tsk tsk." Brock tutted, passing him a napkin. "And underage too."

  
  


"Aww, come on. You two were so drunk you were barely conscious." Ash replied, dabbing up the sauce from his lap. "It's not like either of you can go all righteous on me. I seem to recall your little drinking sessions back in Johto..." He grinned wickedly as he saw them staring at him in suprise. "Betcha thought I was asleep didn't you?"

  
  


"You were awake?!" Brock asked, his voice thick with shock.

  
  


"Yep." Ash replied, a triumphant smirk on his face. "So, are you going to get us our drinks or what?"

  
  


Brock gave a small grunt of consent and set off towards the bar area, his eyes constantly roaming the room for attractive waitresses as he went. Misty watched him leave, then turned to look at Ash over the pile of red blotched napkins. "So, hows the training coming along?" she asked conversationally.

  
  


Ash looked up at her, then slouched back in the chair, shrugging his shoulders. "I dunno. Good, I suppose." He was trying to make his voice sound casual, but the excited gleam in his eyes gave him away. 

  
  


"Going to try again, huh?"

  
  


Ash grinned broadly, dropping his indifferent, casual attitude. "Oh yeah, of course I am." he smiled, getting the same look about him that he had always had when it came to his training. "I mean, everyone's saying to me 'maybe you should give up, maybe Pokemon training isn't for you'. But I know they're wrong. Yeah, most people *would* have given up by now..."

  
  


"But you're not most people" Misty smiled, having sat through this well-rehearsed speech every year.

  
  


"...But I'm not most people. And I just know that I'm going to win this time." he answered confidently.

  
  


"Forever the optimist." Misty grinned, waving at Brock as he came swaggering back to the table holding three beers. Turning back to Ash, she took another handful of peanuts. "And what about Jazelle?"

  
  


Ash's face darkened considerably and he sighed heavily. "What about her?"

  
  


"Well, have you finished with her yet?"

  
  


Ash turned his face away, looking very abashed and uncomfortable. "Um... well..."

  
  


"Oh God, Ash. You haven't, have you?" she sighed, looking at him despairingly.

  
  


"I just... I can't, Misty. It's too hard" he sighed, crossing his arms. "Whenever I speak to her about it, she just starts... crying. And then she keeps saying stuff like 'you can see other women, just don't leave me'. And she keeps threatening to kill herself if I leave..."

  
  


"Ash... are you... blind or something?" Misty scowled, shaking her head. "All you ever do is bitch about how much you hate going out with her and how you're going to leave her. But you never do! Everybody knows that she's sleeping with Gary, not to mention half the men in Pallet Town."

  
  


"You'd say that anyway, you've hated her since Day One." Ash snorted, his face getting steadily redder.

  
  


"Yeah, I hate her because she is a manipulative, stuck-up, spiteful, jealous cow who'll do anything for a bit of money."

  
  


"Don't talk about my girlfriend that way!" Ash yelled, smashing his fist down on the table.

  
  


"Why?! Because I'm telling the truth?!?!" Misty shouted back, leaping to her feet.

  
  


"No! Just because YOU hate her, doesn't mean I have to as well!"

  
  


"But you do! We all KNOW you hate her! So what's the point in hiding it? She's making a fool of you!"

  
  


"ENOUGH!!!"

  
  


Both turned around to see Brock on his feet, staring at them furiously. Both widened their eyes at his uncharacteristic outburst and instantly closed their mouths. Brock very rarely lost his temper, but when something provoked him enough, he could be more vicious than even Misty. His eyes flitted between Misty and Ash, giving each equally acidic looks. Most of the restaurant had turned around at the shouting and were now staring at the small party in silence.

  
  


"Both of you, just SHUT UP!" he continued, rounding on Misty. "Just leave him alone, Misty! It's up to him, not you! You are NOT his minder!"

  
  


"I never said I was!" Misty shouted indignantly. "But I don't want to see him get hurt by some two-bit--"

  
  


"It is none of your business!" Brock shouted again, resting his knuckles on the table.

  
  


"Fine! Take sides with HIM!" she roared, pointing aggressively at Ash. "I should have expected it! You two always gang up together! Fine, Ash! Let that bitch use you as her little toy to play with! But don't come to me when she gets bored and wants a new one!"

  
  


"And you!" she carried on, turning to Brock. "I would have expected more from you! For all I know, you've probably slept with her too!" She looked at them both in complete disgust, then suddenly twirled around and stormed out of the restaurant, slamming the door so hard behind her that the glass shook.

  
  


Ash and Brock both stared at the door, both too shocked to speak or move. After a moment of simply standing motionlessly, Ash sank back down into his seat wordlessly, his hands covering his face. Brock remained standing and staring into space, oblivious to the stares of the entire restaurant on him and the thick silence of the room. His temper left as soon as it had came, and all of a sudden, his eyelids became as heavy as lead. Glancing from the motionless Ash to the dark streets illuminated outside through the glass, he silently left a few notes on the table for the bill, picked up Misty's abandoned coat, and walked out the door.

  
  


*

  
  


Brock drove along the dark silent streets with a heavy heart, and an indescribable feeling of guilt niggling away in his gut. He felt incredibly nauseous, and it wasn't due to motion sickness. His eyes swept anxiously up every street he drove down, his hand absent-mindedly clutching her coat. His expression was blank and vacant, but it was turmoil inside his head. Why had he lost it like that? He hardly ever lost his temper, and he had just completely freaked out back in the restaurant, in full view of about thirty people. But all he could remember was Misty and Ash's incessant screaming at each other. Misty trying to boss around Ash and deeply insulting him, whether she meant to or not. Ash standing up for a woman who held absolutely no feelings for him, and being every inch the gullible sap. Something inside him had snapped, and he had just... totally lost it. He was never siding with Ash. He was just... yelling at her first. He was going to start shouting at Ash next, but she just started yelling back and jumping to conclusions, like she was always did. And doing that just made him angrier. Like stoking a fire. And the comment about him sleeping with Jazelle... especially in front of Ash... well, that really did sting. But now, he was just had this tremendous of shame, guilt and worry. As he turned the corner into the next street, he remembered how he always used to get that feeling whenever he had shouted at one of his younger siblings.

  
  


He was so lost in his thoughts, that he didn't seem to be looking at the dimly lit street. He didn't see the crossing up ahead and he didn't see the dark silhouette of the woman crossing the road until it was too late. He finally broke out of his reverie as a womans scream pierced the cold night air. He immediately tried to swerve as he saw her terrified face, madly twisting the steering wheel to the left. But a sickening thump against his car and the absence of the figure still standing in the road told him he was too late. His car had ground to a halt, and he stared ahead in shock, glued to his seat. His fingers were gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. It was like he was paralysed. He couldn't move, he couldn't think. It was like a fog had settled in his brain, his mind and body frozen. 

  
  


A yell and the slam of a door seemed to break his trance, and he flung open the door of his car, running around the front. His breath caught in his mouth as he made out the still, unmoving face of Jazelle Morrison. His best friends girlfriend. 

  
  


"No" he whispered, his hands cupping over his mouth. Another scream caught his attention, and he turned his head swiftly to see a thirty-ish woman in a blue dressing gown and slippers standing about six feet from him, her eyes bulging in horror. 

  
  


"He killed 'er! He killed 'er!" she screamed, pointing a shaking finger at Brock. "That man's a murderer! He killed 'er!"

  
  


Brock opened his mouth to protest when he was grabbed from behind by a couple of the residents, all shouting for the woman to call the police. As more people started to pour into the streets from their houses, Brock struggled against his restraints, screaming his innocence.

  
  


From the dark alleyway across the street, one person watched with tears streaming down their face, then fled sobbing into the darkness.

  
  


*

  
  


Brock sat in his seat, a police officer flanking him on each side, both heavily armed. He was wearing his best suit, a black designer one Misty bought him last year, when they had to attend an incredibly formal gym leader meeting. He blotted out the sound of the prosecution lawyer who stalked around the room, occasionally pointing accusingly at Brock and giving him a long, cold stare. But then, nearly everybody was giving him a cold stare. Everyone was looking at him with hate. Like they'd like him to be burnt at the stake or something. It was lucky for him that Capital Punishment had been outlawed in Kanto for over a century. 

  
  


He knew he should have been listening, but if he heard anymore, he was sure he was going to be sick. He looked over to the stands, his eyes feeling surprisingly heavy. His Dad was sat there with his new wife, as was his brothers and sisters. Sitting next to them were friends and colleagues, including the other gym leaders. Misty was sitting separately from the other gym leaders, wringing her hands nervously. Ash sat next to her, his face impassive. Brock knew he had been having a tough time with the whole thing. Who wouldn't? His best friend had been accused of murdering his girlfriend. He didn't know who to believe and who's side to be on. They had both given evidence earlier, had tried to sugar-coat it as much as possible. But they were under oath. And the fact that he had a violent temper outburst beforehand, as witnessed by 38 people, about the dead woman herself, was not good in his defence.

  
  


He turned back to the judge, an elderly bespectacled man in his sixties. He closed his eyes, thinking back to the last witness, the thirty-something woman who had been screaming in the street. Her accusing words still rang in his head;

  
  


"It was him! I saw him come speedin' down the road, plain as day. Was lookin' right in front of him, he was! She were crossin' the road, mindin' her own business! He saw 'er, he was lookin' right at 'er! Went straight into 'er, didn't even try to avoid 'er! Didn't swerve or nuffin! He knew what he were doin'! He was gonna kill 'er! He were gonna do it deliberately. Knocked 'er down, he did. Mowed right over 'er! Just sat there for a few minutes, a sort of self satisfied look about him. Then he got outta his car and ran around to stare at 'er body! Makin' sure he had the job done, I'll bet ya!"

  
  


He had tried to protest his innocence of course. "I did swerve! I just saw her too late!" he had shouted, before being brought to order by the judge.

  
  


He was suddenly brought back to harsh reality as the judge began to speak, his gravelly voice booming around the room. "Jury. Have you reached a verdict?"

  
  


The middle-aged woman standing in the bottom left seat stood up. "We have your honour."

  
  


The judge raised his eyebrows expectantly. The woman looked at Brock briefly, before turning back to the crowd. "On the charge of first-degree murder, we find the defendant, Brock Takeshi Slate,"

  
  


She gave a pause, in which everybody held their breath. Brock leaned forward slightly, ignoring the handcuffs digging into his wrists, silently praying. They had to find him innocent. He never killed her deliberately. He wouldn't be sent to prison if he was innocent. That kind of thing only happened in films. 

  
  


"Guilty."

  
  


A cry of "NO!" echoed around the room, sounding suspiciously like Misty's voice. Brock closed his eyes to stop the sudden onslaught of tears pricking his eyelids, and let his head drop heavily into his arms. As the judge passed sentence, Brock could barely hear him. He sounded like he was a thousand miles away, and the only words Brock could pick up were "Life Sentence." He suddenly couldn't hold back the flood of emotions and he began to sob into his hands, whispering "No. No, please God, no."

  
  


As he was led away from the courtroom, he stole a glance at the stands through his heavily blurred eyes. His Father was staring at the ceiling, his face desolate and screwed up to stop the tears. His siblings were hugging, consoling each other. Ash had his hands covering his face as his shoulders shook and Misty wept beside him, her hands trembling, muttering to herself.

  
  


A fresh tide of tears fell down his face as he was led away. Away from the courtroom. Away from his family.

  
  


Away from freedom.

  
  


........................

  
  
  
  


The silence of the apartment was shattered by the sound of her own choked sobs. Reliving the moment was more painful than words could ever say. It was all a mistake, a tragic mistake. 

  
  


But what could she do? She had forsaken him when he had needed her the most.

  
  


She silently slid down the wall, the picture clutched against her chest. She stared at it for a moment, as if remembering every contour of the picture. Then she threw it across the room, where it smashed into the wall and shattered into a thousand tiny glass splinters. Drawing her legs up to her chest, she curled into a ball and buried her head into her knees, muffling her sobs.

  
  
  
  


"Oh God, what have I done?"

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Facing Betrayal

  
  


Authors Note: I was really hoping to have this finished by the third chapter, but it looks like it's going to be at least one or two more chapters. This is a really crappy chapter, and gives a few more clues about Misty's involvement with Brock's supposed "crime."

  
  


So, still wanna read it? Too bad 'cause you are. 

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


"MISTY!!!"

  
  


Her eyes snapped open as the piercing yell infiltrated through the hazy, sleep-induced fog settled over her brain. She winced as a sharp stabbing pain shot through her head and stayed there, intensifying every passing second. Her tongue felt like sandpaper against her dry, cracked lips, and she had a horrible metallic aftertaste in her mouth. Not to mention the overwhelming feeling of nausea that was squirming dangerously in her gut, threatening to show itself any moment now. 

  
  


She mentally did a check-list of all her ailments. And came to the conclusion that it was just one hell of a bad hangover. Much to the protest of her aching muscles, she turned over on her bed and tried to focus through bleary eyes on her alarm clock. After a few moments of squinting at the red digits, she finally was able to make out the time as 2:34pm. Wow. That was late. Even for her.

  
  


"Mistyyyyyy!!!"

  
  


She winced as the shout from outside caused her head to pound even more furiously. "Sshh..." she whispered unnecessarily, knowing that whoever was shouting wouldn't have a chance in hell of hearing her. She huddled up in a fetal position with her arms wrapped around her legs, and closed her leaden eyes. She wanted nothing more than to escape back into the deep, dreamless sleep that was only within her grasp when she was helped with copious amounts of alcohol. Ah, sweet alcohol... deadened the pain. Made her forget. Let her escape the dreams. Where would she be without it? 

  
  


"Go 'way. Hurts..." 

  
  


"MISTYYY!!!"

  
  


She swore softly, sighing in defeat. She would be getting no more peace today. Heaving herself onto her elbow, she swung her aching legs over the side of the bed and stood up shakily. She swayed a little as a sudden head rush made her see dots of colour dance in front of her eyes. After steadying herself a little, she staggered over to the window and pulled back the blue hessian curtain. She cringed again as harsh sunlight invaded her sight and blinked a couple of times to adjust herself to the sudden brightness. 

  
  


She focussed on the prowling figure beneath her window, squinting to see him through the glorious sunshine of another beautiful Cerulean City day. It didn't take her long to realise that the person beneath her window was Ash, and he looked incredibly pissed off about something. He paced along the front of her house with his hands clasped behind his back, his face a mixture of frustration and anxiety. He hissed slowly through his front teeth and wiped his sweating brow with the back of his hand. Glaring at the house, he cupped his hands around his mouth and took a deep lungful of breath.

  
  


"Misty!!! Come on, I know you're in there!!"

  
  


Misty cringed again as his voice sent a fresh wave of pain through her head. She opened the window and leaned out as far as her waist.

  
  


"Keep it down, Ash!" she shouted in a hoarse, suprisingly rough voice, rubbing the sleep from her eyes with a balled up fist. Ash jumped at her voice and snapped his head upwards. The look in his eyes as he saw her was a mixture of relief and annoyance. 

  
  


"What took you so long? I've been shouting for five minutes!" he snapped, shaking his wrist at her and motioning with his other hand to the silver watch wrapped around it.

  
  


"I was asleep." Misty growled, trying her best to convey her most evil glare in his direction. "Until I was so rudely interrupted."

  
  


"Asleep?!" Ash asked in disbelief, raising an eyebrow. He stole a glance at his watch. "It's almost 20 minutes to three! What were you doing in bed so late?"

  
  


Misty mumbled a response, the only part Ash could decipher being "Bad night."

  
  


Ash sighed, swallowing the hundreds of concerned questions that just burst onto the tip of his tongue. "Okay... okay, just..." he sighed, putting a weary hand to his forehead. "... just come here. I want to speak to you." 

  
  


"And all I want is to go back sleep." Misty grumbled, putting every ounce of frustration she felt behind a malicious stare.

  
  


"Misty, come on. Please, just come down here." he pleaded. Misty exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. She just didn't have the energy to fight today. 

  
  


"Okay, okay. Just give me a moment."

  
  


Ash felt a huge surge of relief as Misty's head bobbed back through the window and out of sight. He waited as he heard her clump heavily down the stairs, followed by the sound of the bolt being drawn back across the door. Misty opened the door and gave her friend a wary smile. "Hey."

  
  


Ash viewed her appearance through the critical gaze of a concerned friend. She was wearing the same clothes as she was yesterday, only they were now rumpled and untidy. Her long hair was messy and out of place, and the remains of yesterday's mascara clung to her lashes, leaving black smudges under her eyes. This, when teamed with the tired bloodshot eyes staring out under half-closed eyelids, made her look more like a homeless druggie than the beautiful bright-eyed gym leader she normally was. Ash blinked a couple of times in shock. Then being the honest, caring friend he was, he gave her his honest, caring opinion. 

  
  


"God, you look like Hell." 

  
  


Misty gave a tight laugh as she heard the words that she had told Brock just a few days ago be repeated. "Thank you sweetheart, you're no supermodel yourself."

  
  


Ash didn't acknowledge her weak attempt at humor, preferring instead to stare at her anxiously. "Are you... okay?"

  
  


Misty rolled her eyes, feeling annoyed at the concerned looks he kept giving her. They made her feel... stupid. Pathetic. Like she was incapable. She decided to ignore the question. "What do you want Ash?"

  
  


Ash gave a wane smile, then looked up at the perfect sky, shielding his eyes with his hand. "Nice day. Want to go for a walk?" he asked with a strained cheerfulness in his voice. Misty frowned at him, a flash of confusion crossing her features.

  
  


"What?"

  
  


Ash closed his eyes as he held his head to the sun, enjoying the warmth on his face. "We should take a walk, don't you think?" he repeated. Misty closed her eyes wearily and leant heavily against the doorframe.

  
  


"I'd really rather not, Ash. I just want to go sleep." she whispered, holding her head. Ash brought down his face and opened his eyes. "Misty. I think it really would be a good idea to take a walk. It'd give us a chance to... talk."

  
  


Misty held his gaze for a moment, bringing herself up too full height. "You're right." she agreed, relenting. "Just give me a moment to tidy myself up."

  
  
  
  


* 

  
  
  
  


Brock lay on his bunk, staring miserably at the dirty ceiling through eyes blurred with heavy tears. He turned onto his side and drew his legs up to his chest, kneading his hands in front of them. His arm was still hurting considerably from when he had been tackled by the guards. It didn't hurt as much as it did earlier. He could barely move it then. Now it was just like a constant ache from his shoulder to his fingertips. More bothersome than painful, really. He spared a glance at his arm, squinting to see it through his tear clogged eyelashes. The wrist was slightly swollen, and ugly purple bruises had formed over his darkly tanned skin. He looked away, partly in sorrow, partly in disgust. They were a blatant reminder of where he was and how he got there, a temporary scar that told people what he was. What he had become. A year ago he was a high ranking gym leader who owned his own chain of breeding salons, up and down the island. He had ten brothers and sisters, all out doing their own thing. He had made peace with his Father, who had found happiness again with a new woman. He had two best friends who he... he thought... were loyal and cared about him. And would stand by him no matter what. A choked snort escaped as he thought about it. And now? 

  
  


'Now,' he thought, 'In prison, getting beat up by prison guards, no friends, doing a life sentence for a crime I never committed, hated by the world.' 

  
  


A tear filled laugh filled the cell as he contemplated the huge screw-up that was his life. He continued to laugh, somewhat hysterically, until the chuckles turned into anguished sobs, empty and desolate and filled with a heart wrenching hopelessness. He removed his hands from his legs and wrapped them around his abdomen, seeking warmth and comfort from the aching loneliness that ripped through every fibre of him. They had betrayed him. Abandoned him. The many years they had spent together, the thousands of memories... did it stand for nothing to them?! He had hoped... hell, he had thought... that they had created something special during those years together. Something thicker than blood, that was going to last the ages. How could he have been such a bad judge of character? He thought hem true friends. He had cared for them, helped them through tough times, stayed with them through good and bad.

  
  


And how did they show their gratitude? By turning their backs on him the moment they got the chance. He was fed up of being forgiving, for being pushed over and walked on. Anger bubbled inside him for a while, before fading and leaving him alone with his pain. A tear escaped from the corner of his eye, slid slowly down his damp cheek and rested in the dip between his upper and lower lip. He licked the salty water from his top lip as another sob wracked his upper body, causing him to shake uncontrollably. Where did it all go wrong?

  
  


'When that woman ended up under your wheels, you murderer.' a niggling voice at the back of his mind told him.

  
  


'I'm not a murderer.'

  
  


'Jazelle's dead.' the tiny voice told him accusingly. 'And she died when your car hit her.'

  
  


"Shut up!" Brock screamed out loud, clamping his hands down violently over his ears. He felt like he was teetering on the brink of sanity, and it wasn't going to take much to shove him over. He was already being accused of murder by his own mind. He was starting to doubt his own innocence. What if he did kill her? Then... then he was a murderer. He deserved to be here.

  
  


A fresh tide of tears tracked down his face as he let out a pitiful wail, balling his fist in the coarse material of his bed. His world was suddenly a cold, empty, desolate place where loneliness and despair were the only emotions he could feel, where nobody cared for him and nobody loved him. He closed his eyes in grief. What the hell was happening to him?

  
  


"I want to die." he whispered to himself, brushing aside a tear. "I just want to die."

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


Misty sighed to herself, raising her head towards the sun like Ash had done, revelling in the warmth, and the boost that you could only get from being out in the fresh air. The sun beat down on her bare arms and legs as they walked through the park, taking her mind a little off her hangover. She smiled slightly at Ash through the sunglasses she had put on to hide the bloodshot eyes. She had to admit, she did feel a lot better after a fresh set of clothes and two Neurofen tablets. Ash noticed her slightly improved state of mind and grinned back, shoving his hands deep into his trouser pockets.

  
  


"Feeling better?"

  
  


"Yeah. Thanks for dragging me out here. I'd probably still be sprawled over the bed moping if you hadn't have turned up."

  
  


"Don't mention it. I guess it's kinda my job now." Ash grinned, turning to face her.

  
  


"Oh, come on." Misty groaned, rolling her eyes. "I don't need a minder. You don't have to watch over me now that Brock...." 

  
  


She trailed off and averted her eyes guiltily as she brought up the one thing they had silently agreed to avoid talking about. "...isn't here to." she finished quietly, turning her eyes to the tarmacked ground below her feet. "Sorry."

  
  


"Hey hey hey," Ash cut in, putting a caring hand on her shoulder. Misty glanced up nervously, chewing on her lower lip. "It's ok."

  
  


Misty managed a small grin, closing her eyes briefly. "Thanks Ash."

  
  


"No problem." Ash grinned, moving his hand to her upper arm and giving it a friendly squeeze. "Anyway, the whole reason I dragged you out here was because-"

  
  


"Ah. So you have a hidden agenda, hmm?" Misty asked teasingly, raising an eyebrow. Ash threw her his most innocent look and rose his hands in a gesture of protest.

  
  


"No, I haven't I swear!" he argued, shaking his head vigorously. "I just... wanted to apologise."

  
  


"Apologise?" Misty asked curiously, "For what?"

  
  


"Well... for yesterday." Ash explained, slightly suprised that she had forgotten. He slouched a little and stared at the deep azure sky, which wasn't marred with a single cloud. "I... I went too far."

  
  


Misty stared at him silently for a few seconds, then gave him a small smile and shook her head softly. "No. I'm the one who should be sorry, I just... totally lost it back there. I was upset and I took it out on you because you were nearest."

  
  


"Don't worry. I'm pretty much used to it by now." Ash grinned cheekily. Misty mock-glared at him and thwapped him lightly across the chest.

  
  


"How long did it take you get home?" she asked out of curiosity.

  
  


"Nine hours." Ash grunted.

  
  


"Nine?!" Misty echoed in suprise. "It shouldn't have took you that long..."

  
  


"Well," Ash snorted, giving her an accusing look. "If you'll think back, then you'll remember that it started to rain as soon as you kicked me out of the car. It does take somewhat longer when walking 21 miles down the side of the motorway through the mud and pouring rain..."

  
  


Misty grinned sheepishly. "Sorry."

  
  


"That's ok. But next time, please leave me on a road which has a bus stop." Ash sighed with a grin. The smile suddenly dropped from his face as a more pressing thought entered his mind.

  
  


"So..." he said casually, wondering how best to approach the matter. "Drinking, last night?"

  
  


Misty started at his not-so-tactful question. "I had a few." she frowned, shrugging nonchalantly.

  
  


"Misty... we've both taken this hard. I just want you to be careful... okay?"

  
  


"Ash!" Misty cried indignantly. "I am being careful. There's nothing wrong with me!"

  
  


"I know, I never said there was." Ash argued, holding her arm tightly. "I'm just trying to be a concerned friend, okay?"

  
  


"I know. And I appreciate that." Misty replied, giving him a small reassuring smile. She turned away to stare at the shining turquoise sea, visible between the trees. Her smile disappeared and was replaced by a thoughtful... even regretful expression. "But... I've been thinking..."

  
  


"Thinking?" Ash inquired, tilting his head to view her. "About what?"

  
  


"About... about everything." Misty replied, sweeping her hand out to show her point. "I mean... what's happened, Ash? Everything's changed. Everything's... wrong..."

  
  


Ash exhaled, giving a brief nod to show he understood. 

  
  


"I mean, this isn't the way it's supposed to be. Brock's in prison, and he's not meant to be there. Dammit, he is like... the least deserving person to be in there. He's probably so... he probably hates us now. I mean... from his point of view, it probably looks like we betrayed him. Badly. Which we have anyway. Well... I have at least."

  
  


She let out a cry of frustration and put her head in her hand. "It's wrong, it's so wrong. And it's all my fault. God, it's all just so screwed up." she whispered, feeling moisture starting tp prick the back of her eyelids. Ash looked at her in dismay, resting a comforting arm across her back.

  
  


"Come on, Misty. I doubt that he hates us..." he suggested timidly, unsure of the fact himself.

  
  


"Oh, who are you trying to kid, Ash? Me? Or yourself?" she snapped, glaring at him scornfully. "We've just basically told him to piss off because we don't need him anymore. And besides," she paused, staring straight ahead. "If he doesn't hate me, he's going hate me soon."

  
  


"Why? Why would he hate you?" Ash asked, raising an eyebrow suspiciously. Misty crossed her arms over her chest and looked over at her younger companion.

  
  


"Because I'm going to tell them." she calmly informed him. "I'm going to go to the police and tell them everything."

  
  


Ash ground to a halt and stared at her in open-mouthed shock. Misty his absence beside her and turned around, raising a questioning eyebrow. Ash gawped at her for a few tense seconds opening and closing his mouth as he tried to think of a response. "You're... you're what?!?!" he eventually managed to splutter, his eyes widened to their full extent. Misty merely turned and took a step forward.

  
  


"You heard."

  
  


Ash watched her retreating back, frozen to the spot in shock, before leaping forward to grab her by the arm. He swung her back to face him. "Are you kidding?" he asked incrudiously.

  
  


"Does it look like I'm kidding?" Misty growled, wrenching her arm from Ash's grip.

  
  


"You can't be serious!" Ash cried, panic creeping into his voice. "You can't! You'll get sent to jail! You'll-"

  
  


"I don't care, Ash!" Misty argued heatedly, balling her fists up at her sides. "Do you think this was an easy decision for me to make? I spent all last night thinking, and I know what's at stake. I know what'll happen if I come forward, but I..." 

  
  


She looked Ash in the eye, silently begging him to understand. "...I can't let him down like this. I've betrayed him, Ash... and I can't bear to watch this happen to him when I know that I can do something about it. He's done too much for me, I can't just walk away. I've been such a coward, and I'm not worthy to be his friend. To be anyone's friend after what I've done. Yes, he's going to hate me. But I'd rather he could hate me a free man than to rot away in that Hell-hole. I'm willing to sacrifice that, Ash."

  
  


"Misty..." he whispered, shaking his head. "Please, please don't do this."

  
  


I'm sorry, Ash." Misty answered firmly, staring ahead. "I've made up my mind." She turned to him, her eyes pleading. "Just do one thing for me, Ash."

  
  


"Anything." he sighed, knowing there was no changing her mind.

  
  


"Tell him for me."

  
  


And with these words spoken, she turned on her heel and walked away. Ash stared after her, trying hard to take in what had just happened in the past few minutes. He closed his eyes in misery, before turning towards the blue blue sky. 

  
  


Suddenly, this day didn't seem quite so perfect.


	4. Facing Truth

  
  


Authors Note: Here's the forth chapter... at -darn- last! This story's starting to annoy me, but I'm gonna soldier on and finish it anyway. Only ONE chapter left after this (the epilogue), and this is where ALL is revealed -- Misty's involvement, what's gonna happen to Brock, and what *really* happened that night. And thanks to everyone who reviewed me. I apologise to anyone who's disappointed by my ending, but it was the only thing I could come up with. And just because Jazelle happens to be an evil psycho in this story doesn't mean I hate her. I just did it because I needed someone to be Ash's bitchy girlfriend. 'Kay?

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


The sun reflected off the thick glass between them, temporarily blinding him every time he tilted his head a little to the left. He cradled the cool, solid green plastic in his hand. It felt oddly cold against his overheated face, which was tinted red from the warm humidity of the sun bathed room. His eyes flickered again to the man sitting on the other side of the glass, only a foot away but untouchable because of the invisible barrier between them that was not just necessarily the glass. The older man leant forward on one of his elbows, smiling at the younger man through a worn and lined face, as darkly tanned as the others and bearing more than just a passing resemblance to his companions. Medium brown hair streaked with strands of grey was tucked below a battered navy-blue Nike cap, and his brown polo-neck sweater was hid beneath an equally battered leather coat, despite the glorious weather outside. The forty-something man gave another tense smile, though it didn't quite reach his world weary eyes.

  
  


"Hello, Brock."

  
  


Brock gave a smile of acknowledgement. "Dad." he replied, his youthful voice sharply contrasting his fathers gravelly, aged voiced. His reply was brisk, forced and noticeably strained. Flint couldn't help but observe the way that his eldest sons mouth twitched, as though the effort of keeping a smile there was causing him considerable pain.

  
  


"Timothy gave this to me." he informed him, holding up a well-thumbed copy of some old novel that had obviously been used frequently by it's previous owner. "He thought you might be getting bored in here. Um... do they let you keep books in here?"

  
  


"Well, I think it's pretty safe." Brock replied, a bitter edge of sarcasm in his voice. "Not unless I'm planning to papercut someone to death."

  
  


Flint blinked, looking slightly hurt at his sons attitude. "Oh. Well. Uh... how are you doing, son?"

  
  


Brock bit back the response that immediately came to mind. Somehow, he thought that "well Dad, my friends just dropped me like a hot potato, I got in a fight with the guards, I'm doubting my own sanity and... oh yeah, I've been seriously considering suicide" wouldn't go down to well at the moment. "Fine. Everything's fine." he lied.

  
  


Flint nodded awkwardly as a heavy silence hung between them. "Well... um... oh! I meant to tell you that... uh... well, we're applying for an appeal." he said brightly, his voice betraying a glimmer of hope. Brock snorted and crossed his arms, smiling as though he found the whole thing humorous.

  
  


"Well... thanks for trying, Flint. But y'know... I really don't think it'll do that much good." he smiled bitterly, giving his father such a look that suggested he knew something that Flint didn't.

  
  


Flint cringed as Brock emphasised the use of his first name, stressing the word "Flint" as much as was possible to. Flint sighed and closed his eyes, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. "Maybe not, Brock. But we can try."

  
  


No reply followed, and he opened his eyes curiously to look Brock. He shuddered involuntarily as Brock fixed a cold, hard stare at him, his left arm folded across his stomach defiantly. "Why do you care?" he finally asked after a long moment of chilling silence.

  
  


"Why do I care?" Flint echoed in disbelief, a frown forming over his older features. "Because you're my son, Brock! That's why!"

  
  


Brock narrowed his eyes at Flint, leaning back in the hard metal chair and draping his free arm over the back. "Hmmm." he grunted, a note of obvious disbelief in his voice. "Cared about me enough to abandon me for seven years of my life, huh?"

  
  


"When will you stop bringing that up, Brock?" his father asked tiredly, his voice tinged with shame. "How many times do I have to say I'm sorry?"

  
  


Brock ignored Flint's question, averting his face to stare out the barred window. "It looks nice out."

  
  


"Oh, it is." Flint agreed. Brock's face dropped, his eyes burning with regret and sadness as he stared unblinkingly out the small square of light. "Uh, I mean... well, it's not all that great." Flint added hastily, guilt creeping into his voice.

  
  


"It's ok, Dad." Brock replied as he leant forward, forcing a smile. "So, how are the kids?"

  
  


A smile crept across Flint's face at Brock's change of attitude, and he sat himself up a little straighter. "Oh they're fine, absolutely fine. Sarah's still on her journey, Tom has a new girlfriend. Nice girl, she's a nurse at the Pokemon Centre. Just the other day, the two of them were... Brock?"

  
  


Brock had been listening intently to the news of the family and grinning, which was definitely a good sign. Flint trailed off as he saw Brock's eyes flicker to a space behind him and widen considerably. The grin dropped off his face and he froze, his back poker straight and his muscles tensed. Flint frowned in bemusement and slowly turned to look in the direction that Brock's eyes were fixed on. Behind them stood a familiar-looking boy in his late teens, his light cotton t-shirt he wore showing the heat of the day. He wore an expectant, slightly nervous expression on his lightly tanned face, and his dark brown eyes flickered from the hands which wrung in anticipation before him, to Brock, to his Father.

  
  


"Ash." Flint heard Brock whisper quietly, his voice thick with poorly disguised shock. He spared at a glance at Brock, who ignored his questioning look and continued to stare at Ash, clenching and unclenching his fists. Flint looked hurriedly from Brock to Ash, then stood. 

  
  


"I'll go. See you soon, Brock."

  
  


Brock ignored his Dad's farewell, his eyes refusing to leave his *former* friend. He still didn't acknowledge Flint's departure as he walked out of the heavily guarded door, promising to return before long. Ash's eyes followed Flint for a short while, before turning back only to lock onto Brock's. Ash gave a weak smile to his imprisoned friend and begun to walk forward slowly, his hands now shoved into his jeans pockets to stop them fidgeting. Timidly, he took the seat that had been recently occupied by Flint, fully aware of Brock's eyes following and scrutinising every move he made. He busied himself with resting his elbows on the ledge, purposely avoiding Brock's eyes. Picking up the telephone, he gave an uneasy smile to Brock, finally gathering the courage to look at him directly.

  
  


"H-Hi, uh... Brock." Ash greeted him nervously, lifting the corner of his lips in a shaky smile. He licked his lips. His mouth felt like cotton wool, and he felt like he had lost the power of speech under Brock's intense stare. Brock tilted his head to the side, but never broke eye contact.

  
  


"Ash."

  
  


"Yeah. Yeah, it's me. Hi. Uh, I've already said that. Um... yeah." he rambled, trying to keep his nerves under control. Brock frowned, giving Ash a look that had all the warmth of a cold day in the Antarctic. 

  
  


"What. Are. You. Doing. Here?" he asked through gritted teeth, punctuating every syllable by tapping his finger on the ledge. Ash took a sharp intake of breath and unconsciously slid further backwards on his chair. 

  
  


"Um... well I... came to see you."

  
  


Brock let out a short burst of bitter laughter and fixed his visitor with a sardonic grin. "Wow. I'm honoured, Ash. Really I am."

  
  


The sarcasm wasn't lost on Ash, who lowered his eyes guiltily. "Brock, I-"

  
  


"I mean, you visit me for the first month or two, saying... hell no, *promising*... that you're going to stand by me. No. Matter. What." he said in an accusatory tone, again punctuating the sentence. "Then, you just buggar off without giving a reason. What happened, Ash? Didn't want to be linked to a killer? Decided that I was guilty as charged? Or maybe you were just lookin' for an excuse to dump me, huh Ash?" His voice was mocking, a trace of hysteria edging every word. Ash gritted his teeth in controlled anger and tightened his grip on the phone.

  
  


"Now that's enough, Brock." he hissed, leaning his face closer to the glass. "Stop acting like an ass. It was wrong of me to avoid you, but don't you *dare* try to insinuate that I did for my own selfish reasons. Just remember *who's* girlfriend is dead right now."

  
  


Brock glared at Ash, his jaw twitching. But he remained silent, refusing to answer. Ash calmed down a little, despite knowing he'd kicked below the belt. His face softened as his eyes flitted to his left arm, now hidden beneath dark-blue material. "How's the arm?" he asked quietly.

  
  


Brock's eyes widened in ill-disguised suprise, and he quickly followed Ash's eye to his left arm, where the sore purple and blue bruises were concealed. "How did you know about that?" he demanded softly, momentarily forgetting his anger. Ash blinked as he thought over Brock's inquiry, his face slowly lighting up in understanding. 

  
  


"Oh. Oh right... Well, I was... um... sort of watching..." he stammered, giving the older man an apologetic smile. Brock didn't smile back.

  
  


"You were here?" he asked quietly, the cold stare returning to his eyes.

  
  


"Well... yeah." Ash replied shamefully, vaguely indicating to a hidden corner of the room. "I was waiting... over there... for Misty."

  
  


Brock started at the mention of his ex-friends name, but quickly recovered and composed himself. "Why didn't you come up here with her?" he asked, tilting his head as the sun hit the glass, obscuring his view of Ash.

  
  


"I... Misty wanted to talk to you alone." Ash replied evasively, staring at the gold ring on his left hand to avoid Brock's gaze.

  
  


"Hmmm. I noticed." Brock said icily. "But then, at least Misty had the decency to *tell* me that she was planning on forgetting I ever existed."

  
  


"Brock, I didn't come here to fight." Ash frowned, glancing up at the man he once called his best friend.

  
  


"So what *did* you come here to do, Ash?" Brock demanded, slapping his hand forcefully on the ledge, causing Ash to jump in his seat. "Gloat?"

  
  


"Brock... I-"

  
  


"And speaking of Misty, how is our dear friend doing?" Brock asked with mocking enthusiasm. "Tell me something, Ash. Why isn't she here? Did she hope that she could forget about me? Or maybe she just doesn't want to stare at a murderer. Is that it, Ash? Huh? The heartless little--"

  
  


"Shut up, Brock!" Ash snapped, his eyes narrowed so much that the pupils were barely visible. "God, if you only knew what she's about to do for you. She's going to get you out of here, Brock. And all you can do is sit here and slag her off. I mean, she's done wrong but she's only human. She's willing to sacrifice her freedom--"

  
  


"Ash, Ash! Calm down!" Brock interrupted, his eyes widened. His head was now bent towards the glass, his posture changed from offhand and rigid to that of someone listening intently. Ash eyes widened in suprise as he realised what he had just blurted out in the heat of the moment.

  
  
  
  


"Oh. Oh, I... Oh, damn. Sorry Brock, I just got carried away there." he explained, his cheeks burning. "I just--"

  
  


"Wait a minute, Ash." Brock cut in again, leaning ever more closely, appearing to have forgotten about being hostile to his visitor. "What did you just say?"

  
  


Ash frowned, looking at the ceiling as he tried to recall his words. "Um... that I got carried away?"

  
  


Brock shook his head, his eyes resting intently on Ash. "No. No, before that. Something about Misty being able to... get me out?"

  
  


Ash's eyes widened in realisation. "Oh. That."

  
  


"Yes... yes, that." Brock nodded, his voice holding the tiniest trace of hope in it. Ash nodded back, sighing inwardly.

  
  


"Brock... I kind of have something to tell you. And this is something you need to know."

  
  


"This sounds serious." Brock remarked, observing the way Ash seemed to be taking deep breaths to calm himself.

  
  


"It is." Ash agreed, solemnly. Brock couldn't help but notice the way his voice lowered considerably, his head bent in as though he was divulging some deeply personal secret. Brock copied his move. "It's very serious, Brock. And you're not going to like what I have to say."

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


Misty rocked herself back and forth, a move which betrayed her emotional state of mind. She was huddled up on the couch, her eyes flicking from the door, to the silent telephone. The lights were off and though the television was switched onto some sitcom or other, no sound came from it, the word 'mute' written in white letters in the top left hand corner. She was seated in a corner of the couch, her arms wrapped tightly around her legs as she tried to squash herself into as small a ball as possible. Her head was upright so that she could view the door easily, and the clock above it. She raised one hand and chewed the tip of her nail, her eyes flitting around the room in anxiety. She nervously glanced at the silver framed circular clock above her door.

  
  


Two hours. That's how long it had been since she sent Ash to tell Brock what she had been trying to run away from for so long. What she wouldn't let herself believe until Brock was dragged to his cell, accused of a truly heinous crime. There was no going back now. It was too late. And what little friendship she may have still held with Brock would surely be shot to pieces by now. She watched as the slender chrome hand moved smoothly over the gilded numbers to indicate the seconds passing. Each seemed to last an age to her. And was it just her imagination, or did it seem to be going backwards instead of forwards?

  
  


She sighed again, though nobody could hear it, and rested her cheek on her knee. Eyes dropping heavily, she let her mind wander onto other, more distracting matters. The sound of car tyres crunching across the gravel outside reached her ears. Her eyes flew open and her head bolted upright to catch the sound of a car door slamming. She scrambled off the couch, getting her legs tangled in her hurry, and rushed the window. Looking out onto the road, now dimly illuminated under the rapidly darkening sky, her heart skipped a beat as she saw the familiar form of Ash walking towards her front door. She squinted, trying to see his face in the darkness, only for it to be shadowed by his baseball cap. Too impatient to wait for him to knock, she raced towards the front door and opened it. Ash blinked as his hand remained in a curled up fist, mid-air. Misty frowned at him impatiently. "Well? What are you waiting for? Get inside." she ordered, opening the door a little wider.

  
  


"Yes ma'am." Ash mumbled, stepping into the house. Misty slammed the door and followed him into the living room. Ash slumped rather than sat on the couch, letting his head flop onto the headrest wearily, his eyes closing. Misty stood over him, glaring. 

  
  


"Well?"

  
  


Ash opened a lazy eye at Misty. She crossed her arms across her chest and gave him a pleading look. Ash sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose wearily. "Come on, Ash." Misty begged, an unintended whine coming into her voice. Ash sat up with his elbows across his legs, clasping his hands in front of him.

  
  


"Yeah?"

  
  


Misty sat down on the floor in front of him, crossing her legs. "Did you tell him?!" she asked in an exasperated tone, her voice surprisingly higher than usual. Ash sighed and took off his cap, ruffling the messy ebony hair beneath it.

  
  


"Yeah, I told him."

  
  


Misty felt panic spread through her gut as she chewed her lower lip and lowered her face shamefully. "What did he say?" she whispered, sounding as though she really didn't want to hear his answer. Ash shoved his hat back on his head and stared at her unblinkingly for a few seconds, as if debating whether or not to share the information. Misty noticed the uneasy silence following her question and looked up with a frown on her face.

  
  


"Come on, Ash. How did he take it?!"

  
  


"He... well... he uh..." Ash stammered, trying to find the right words.

  
  


"Tell me!" Misty practically screamed, gripping him by the shoulders and shaking him.

  
  


"Okay, okay!" Ash yelled, batting his friends hands away. "No need to get homicidal."

  
  


Misty calmed down and tucked her knees under her. "Then tell me -what happened-"

  
  


"I... he... well, he didn't yell." Ash said finally, smiling weakly.

  
  


Misty blinked. "Elaborate."

  
  


"I... dunno, Misty. Even... even *I'm* not quite sure how he took it. It was kind of hard to tell."

  
  


"Well what did he say? What did he do?" Misty persisted. Ash rubbed the back of his neck as he tried to recall. 

  
  


"Well... I told him and he just kind of spaced out. His eyes just got really wide and he looked kind of shocked. Actually, he looked very shocked. And he just stared at me for what seemed like ages. Then he just got up and walked away. Probably to his cell. Just got up without saying anything, staring at the floor and muttering under his breath."

  
  


"That's it?" Misty whispered, her face screwed up in confusion. No anger? No shouting? No breaking down? No cursing her name to the deepest depths of hell? This just didn't make sense.

  
  


"Yeah, that's pretty much it." Brock shrugged, sympathising with his friends confusion. "I think it's safe to say that he's shocked. Very shocked. But... I really couldn't tell you anything else."

  
  


"Oh God." Misty whispered, letting her head flop bonelessly into her hands. "How on earth did all this happen?"

  
  


"Don't worry, Misty." Ash said reassuringly, not knowing what other words of comfort to give her. "And... it's not to late. To back out. Forget this whole thing ever happened. Brock's not the type to squeal... even if it is... y'know..."

  
  


"No. No, I'm going to go through with this." Misty replied firmly, taking a deep breath. "I can't back out now."

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


The tall, formally-dressed redhead standing just outside the courtroom fixed the crooked sleeve of her black skirt suit with an air of calm. To a passer-by, Misty appeared collected, calm, and totally unaffected. Only her male companion knew what was really going on inside her head, about her concealed panic. 

  
  


Misty turned to look at Ash, delivering a shaky smile. "How do I look?"

  
  


"Great." Ash grinned, standing up from his seat on one of the hard green plastic chairs. "Very sophisticated. It's like a whole new you."

  
  


Misty smiled weakly at his ill attempt of steadying her nerves. "Thank you." she mouthed, straightening invisible creases out of her skirt. She took an unsteady step towards the heavy wooden double doors which lead to the courtroom, before being tugged back gently on her sleeve.

  
  


She turned to face Ash questioningly. "You're very brave, Misty. I don't know if I could do what you're doing if I was in your position."

  
  


"Thank your lucky stars that you're not, Ash." Misty advised him wistfully, freeing her jacket sleeve from his grasp. Ash responded by putting a hand on her shoulder.

  
  


"I still think you're doing the wrong thing. Well... it's the right thing to do morally, but... you know what I mean." he explained, a sad look in his eyes. "As much as I care about Brock, I still don't think you should have come forward. What's done is done. There's really no point in turning yourself in as well."

  
  


"I know you mean well, Ash. But this is something I have to do." she said determinedly, looking towards the door. Ash closed his eyes and sighed. "You are either very brave, or very stupid."

  
  


"Most probably the latter." Misty smiled, pulling herself away from Ash.

  
  


She entered the courtroom.

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


The lawyers droning voice filled the courtroom, but Misty couldn't quite seem to hear him. She recognised the tall educated looking man as the same lawyer who had defended Brock the first time around. Funny how you only remember the small things.

  
  


She had successfully managed to blot out most of what the people around her were saying, intent on staring at the faces staring back at her from around the room. Some she recognised, some she didn't. Ash had caught her eye at least twice, giving her an encouraging smile and a discreet thumbs up. She had gave him a brief smile in return though it quickly disappeared. She had gone through the whole thing in a daze, it seemed. It was just like a dream, when she had been called to the witness box. When she had walked across the room, followed by many pairs of eyes, all boring into her back. When she had confirmed her name and address. When she had raised her right hand with her left resting on the bible, and swore to tell The Truth, The Whole Truth, and Nothing But The Truth. And all she wanted to do was wake up. Her mouth seemed to move automatically as she answered questions on herself, her relationship with Brock, what she knew about Brock Slate. 

  
  


How long have you known Brock Slate, Miss Williams?

  
  


Would you say Brock Slate is a violent man, Miss Williams?

  
  


Have you ever experienced violence at the hands of Brock Slate, Miss Williams?

  
  


Misty had answered all the questions without thinking, having answered the questions during the first trial. She stole a glance at the one person who she had avoided looking at until this point. Brock sat in the stands, the metallic handcuffs clenching his wrists together in front of him. He wore the standard prisoner uniform with his sleeves rolled up due to the warm weather. His face was expressionless, carrying no flicker of emotion. No anger. No hopefulness. No hate. His eyes gazed at an invisible spot on the wall to her left, his lips set into a tight line and his jaw clenched firmly. The stare was empty, void of emotion. And it wouldn't meet her eyes. He simply would not look at her. She gave an inward sigh, knowing that she deserved this treatment anyway. What right did she have to expect him to grace her with a look?

  
  


She was brought back from her thoughts as the sound of wood knocking against wood pierced through her skull. She blinked, slightly dazed, at the judge gazing down at her sternly. It was a different one this time, a woman with brown hair in a severe bob. "I believe," the woman informed her, "that the prosecution asked you a question."

  
  


This tidbit of information seemed to get through the cotton wool surrounding her brain. Nodding in understanding, she turned to the prosecution lawyer in anticipation of her question. The middle-aged woman looked at Misty impatiently and rolled her eyes, as if dealing with a disruptive child. "Thank you, you're honour." she smiled, turning to the judge.

  
  


'Kiss ass.' Misty thought to herself. The lawyer turned back to Misty, the smile now gone.

  
  


"Miss Williams," she said briskly, pacing around the room. "Am I to understand that you were at the crime scene when the death of Miss Jazelle Morrison took place?"

  
  


"Yes. That's correct."

  
  


"Can you tell us, in your own words, what happened on the night of Thursday 9th February, 2001?" 

  
  


"Yes. I can." Misty said slowly, trying to put together every scrap of courage she could find.

  
  


"Then please, do tell." the woman replied, giving her a patronising smile. Misty took a deep breath and began to tell what happened, through her own eyes.

  
  
  
  


~~~~~ 9th Feb, 2001. 10:59pm ~~~~~

  
  
  
  


Misty walked through the dark streets in a particularly foul mood, ignoring the indignant faces of the people she carelessly pushed past without a second thought. The slabs beneath her feet were slick from the rain that had been falling mercilessly earlier so that every so often, one of her feet would skid, throwing her a little off balance. Her arms, bare against the bite in the chilly February air, were covered with little raised hairs, pitiful protection from the cold. She had forgotten her coat. Damn.

  
  


As she walked along the curb lining each side of the road, the rage she had been feeling up until now was very slowly starting to dissipate. But it was still there, and she was still furious at her so called 'friends'. She couldn't believe Ash's stupidity. How could one man... boy, really, be able to justify the actions of that no-good hussy, Jazelle?! And Brock... dammit, she thought he knew better than that. They were both idiots. Blind, stupid, idiots being taken for a ride. Sure, she had lost her temper. Maybe said a few things which she shouldn't have. But after all, it was their own fault.

  
  


As she turned a corner, she suddenly noticed how people became more and more scarce as she walked further and further from the restaurant. Stopping in her tracks, she warily looked from left to right. The road stretched into the darkness, empty and totally unoccupied. Not a single soul was in sight, either way she turned. The dim orange glow of the street lights reflected off the wet road, highlighting the dark puddles nestled in between the broken slabs of the pavement. Identical houses lined up on both sides of the road, the dark, empty windows staring back at her. She wrapped her arms around her protectively, barely suppressing her a shiver. She was now fully aware at the cold nipping at her uncovered skin, and started to slowly walk up the road. She didn't know her destination, nor did she care. At the minute, all she wanted to do was get back into the warmth. 

  
  


After what seemed to be an eternity of walking further into the lonely abyss, she was starting to believe that this empty, uninhabited road had no end. She felt herself starting to despair. Her legs and feet ached, the muscles protesting every time she took a step forward. Her arms and hands were now numb with cold, and the biting wind felt like a knife slicing across her cheek. Raindrops had gently started splattering the ground again, falling in horizontal sheets from the sky. One dropped from the frozen tip of her nose as she stopped, staring ahead through her blurred vision. Some way ahead, the road ended at a junction. At the corner was a traditional pub, an ancient painted sign outside displaying it's name, "O'Malley's."

  
  


The lights in the window and the distant sound of people laughing and talking seemed the most inviting thing in the world to her at the moment. She could do with a drink. And besides, it had to be warmer and more entertaining than standing in rain, getting soaked to the skin. With renewed energy, she walked forward at a faster pace, in the direction of the bar. It was still a slight way off, and she walked with her eyes fixed onto the road ahead of her, paying no attention at all to her surroundings.

  
  


That was why she got such a shock as a dark figure came hastily out of the black alleyway and collided into her forcefully. Misty staggered backwards, arms flailing as the other figure fell heavily to the ground. Misty blinked a couple of times to get her bearings, steadying herself so that she didn't fall into the road. She squinted through the darkness to the person sitting in the shadows, not yet recovered from the fall. "Watch where you're going." Misty growled at the unidentified person, but offered her hand nevertheless. The other person took her hand shakily and was quickly pulled to their feet.

  
  


"I'm sorry. I just--"

  
  


The person stopped as their eyes locked onto Misty's illuminated face, disdain flashing in their eyes. Misty started at the all too familiar voice. Her suspicions were confirmed as the woman came into full view under the street light, and she recoiled her hand as quickly as if she had been burnt. "You. What are *you* doing here?" she demanded, glaring heatedly at the short brunette. The woman gave her a look of deliberately unconcealed contempt and adjusted her shirt collar in an irritatingly passive manner. 

  
  


"Oh, it's.... you again. Kristy, isn't it?"

  
  


Misty narrowed her eyes at her, recognising Jazelle's attempt to wind her up.

  
  


"That's not my name and you know it." she hissed, rage starting to bubble up inside her. She was really not in the mood to see her right now. At anytime actually. But more so now. Jazelle simply gave her a sneering smile.

  
  


"Yes, yes. One of Ash's little friends if I'm not mistaken."

  
  


Misty didn't answer, glaring intently at her instead. Jazelle took in Misty's appearance with fake interest. "My my. Aren't you cold? And where are your little friends?"

  
  


Misty still refused to grace the woman with an answer, clenching and unclenching her fists in a futile attempt to control her temper.

  
  


"Pity." Jazelle sighed in an off-hand manner, flicking one of her hoop earrings. "I was so hoping to see Ash around."

  
  


Misty's frown dropped as she fixed the older woman with a suspicious look and a raised eyebrow. "And why would that be?"

  
  


"Do I have to have an excuse to see my boyfriend?" she asked in an overly polite tone, shrugging casually. "I mean, Gary's not in town. I have entertain myself *somehow* don't I?"

  
  


Misty's anger flared up again as soon as the words left Jazelle's perfectly painted lips and she took a menacing step forward, her fingers itching to wrap themselves around her throat. "Why you little... bitch!" she yelled, her eyes narrowing as much as they could. "I swear, if you say *anything* like that again, I'll--"

  
  


"Hmm, don't like me talking about little Ash like that, huh?" Jazelle asked mockingly, allowing a smug, self-satisfied smile to spread over her face. "Tut tut. You're still the same as you were when we first met at the Pokemon Tech, aren't you Misty? Always resorting to violence."

  
  


"And *you're* still the same as you were when you were at Pokemon Tech. Still the arrogant, stuck-up little tramp you'll always be." Misty spat, raising a curled up fist.

  
  


"Well, maybe if Ash isn't around, I could always go for that other friend of yours. I always thought he was very cute. I bet *he* wouldn't mind keeping me company."

  
  


"You leave Brock alone!" Misty yelled, rage burning in her eyes. "You leave both of them alone! Does it give you a kick to come and screw up peoples lives?! You don't get it, do you Jazelle? No-one gives a damn about you! No-one! They all laugh at you behind your back. You're nothing but a slu-"

  
  


Misty's furious ranting was cut mid-sentence as Jazelle's palm stuck her across the face, the resounding slap echoing in the silent street. Misty's face snapped to the side from the force of Jazelle's strike, red hair splaying across her face and obscuring her eyes. The silence was deafening as Misty remained motionless, Jazelle standing with her hand still raised, eyes narrowed in anger. Misty turned her head to look at Jazelle through wide eyes, lifting her hand to brush aside the rebellious strands of hair. She gently touched the red mark across her cheekbone with her fingertips, wincing at the sting even such a soft touch invoked. Her face contorted with fury as she brought her hand down to waist level, flexing it. 

  
  


Jazelle hissed at her opponent and swung her hand down again for a second hit. This time however, Misty was more than ready and ducked, letting Jazelle's hand fly harmlessly over her head. She bunched her hand up into her fist and swiftly dealt Jazelle a heavy blow to the stomach. Jazelle doubled over in pain, clutching her abdomen with one hand and swinging wildly at Misty with the other. She successfully dodged them all, but was caught rather painfully in the jaw by the last one. Her temper now boiling over, Misty violently retaliated by lashing out. Her fist connected with the side of Jazelle's face, sending the shorter woman reeling. Clutching her head, she staggered back from the force of the blow, arms flailing as she tried to find something to grip onto to stop her fall. Just as she seemed to be regaining her balance, she took an unsteady step forward for another attempt to bring her opponent down. Misty, being one step ahead, gave Jazelle a shove backwards. 

  
  


It wasn't particularly forceful, and had it not been for the fact that Jazelle's stiletto heel had slipped from the curb, it would have been pretty harmless. Jazelle fell backwards off the pavement, her arms flailing. She staggered backwards, trying to regain her balance, until she came to a stop in the centre of the road. Misty, breathing rapidly from the exertion of the fight, gazed up from her bent position just in time to see a car speeding straight towards Jazelle.

  
  


"Jazelle!!! MOVE!!!" she shouted, her arms waving around in panic. 

  
  


Jazelle spared her a brief look before glancing to the road in front of her. Misty watched as she froze to the spot, her eyes wide with terror. A scream pierced through the still air, stabbing right into Misty's soul. Misty saw the car suddenly swerve, but managed to turn away just as she heard the dull thud of something heavy hitting the wet ground. A sickening silence followed, the only sound being the frantic beating of her own heart, and her heavy, laboured breathing. She closed her eyes, hoping with all her might that Jazelle was fine. That she'd somehow been missed and had just... fainted from shock or something. She gingerly turned her head, opening her eyes slowly. Her mouth opened in a silent scream as she saw the lifeless body of the woman she was fighting just moments ago, lying still and face down on the floor. From her position in the shadows, she let out a strangled sob, her breath caught in her throat. 

  
  


"Oh my God. I killed her. I killed her." she whispered, her eyes welling with tears. She stared at the body in shock, too distraught to notice the familiar car beside it, now silent and motionless. A womans high-pitched scream brought her back to reality and she watched in silent horror as the car door swung open. Too sickened to see anymore, she buried her head in her hands and started to edge away from the crime, making sure to stay in the shadows.

  
  


"I killed her." she whispered again. "I'm so sorry. Oh God, I'm so sorry, Jazelle." 

  
  


Reaching the dark alleyway where Jazelle had first appeared, she spared a look back at the street, leaning heavily against the wall. The street was now slowly filling with people, at the centre of which was a large commotion and yelling. Misty clasped a hand over her mouth, stifling the sobs. "I'm sorry." she whispered a final time, before running into the pitch black of the alleyway, blocking the peoples screams from her head.

  
  
  
  


"I'm so sorry."

  
  
  
  


~~~~~ The Present ~~~~~

  
  
  
  


The courtroom was as silent as a graveyard as Misty finished her story, a sense of shock echoing throughout the room. She looked up shamefully, biting her lip to keep her emotions in check. The prosecution lawyer stepped up to where Misty was seated in the witness box, her face carrying its usual business-like expression.

  
  


"And... Miss Williams... you have been cross-examined before?"

  
  


"That's correct." Misty replied.

  
  


"So you... lied... under oath. Do you know that's an offence."

  
  


"Yes."

  
  


The prosecution lawyer nodded slowly. "Miss Williams... it has to be asked. WHY did you not tell us this before?"

  
  


Misty looked up and stared at the lawyer in disbelief, tears welling in her eyes. "Why didn't I tell you?" she repeated. "Because I was scared. I was so scared. I didn't want to go to prison. I was terrified of what was going to happen to me."

  
  


"Yet you were prepared to send your friend here to prison?"

  
  


"No!" Misty cried indignantly, standing up. "I NEVER wanted that! I never EVER wanted Brock to go through this!"

  
  


"Then WHY did you it?" 

  
  


"Because I didn't know what else to do!" Misty shouted, gently being pushed back down into her seat. "I just didn't know what was happening. I didn't know what to do! I knew that if I came forward then... he'd hate me. I didn't want Brock to know what I did. That it was my fault he was in prison. I was scared."

  
  


Misty let her head flop into her hands as the jury took in this new information. Brock looked up for the first time since the courtroom began, staring at Misty's trembling form. He tilted his head to the side and stared at her through sad eyes, before dropping his head again.

  
  


"Miss Williams... Misty... why didn't you come forward after, then? You had plenty of chances." the lawyer informed her, her voice adopting a less harsh tone. Misty sighed and removed her hands, simply touching her hand tenderly to her head. Tears ran down her face. 

  
  


"Because I had confided in a friend and... he told me that... what was done was done. And I guess... it was just what I wanted to hear."

  
  


"Uh huh. And why did you decide to come forward now?"

  
  


"Because I hated myself for what I did. It was all I could think about. Eating away at me day and night. I hated myself for what I did to Brock. I didn't care if he hated me anymore, as long as he could be free."

  
  


The judge nodded. "The jury will now retire."

  
  
  
  


*

  
  
  
  


"Have you reached a verdict?"

  
  


The nearest member of the jury nodded and stood up, clasping his hands in front of him. "We have your honour. In light of the new evidence, we now find Brock Takeshi Slate clear on the charge of first degree-murder."

  
  


The courtroom erupted into murmurs and whispers. As the courtroom started to empty around them, Misty spared a look towards Brock. The guard at his side undid his handcuffs, and he raised his hands and cupped his face, leaning backwards, a large grin evident on his face. It looked like someone had just lifted the weight of the world off his shoulders. As removed his hands, his eyes locked on to Misty's. She quickly looked away, too ashamed to look him in the eye. A few seconds later, she turned back, to find him still staring at her. And then he did something which made Misty almost fall off her chair in shock.

  
  


He smiled.

  
  


He actually smiled at her. It was only a small, restrained, slightly sad smile. Nothing close to the smiles that the three of them had shared over the years. But it was definitely a glimmer of hope for her in the uncertain future waiting ahead. It assured her she had made the right choice. That it was all worth it. 

  
  


And it was more than she could have ever hoped for.

  
  
  
  



End file.
